A fleshed out beginning for Goldy Hawthorne and the TTB…unedited…

“Folks, we’re in the throes of the pandemic. All across the globe people dragged their dead into the street and burned. Our inoculation failed; our scientists baffled. There’s nothing more we can do to fight it. We must let the virus run its course, and we must pray enough of us survive…”
Pop-Pop Abram shut off the television and walked to the large window, the only one of its kind in his one-bedroom apartment, and stared out at the city below him. Sirens filled the air, and the flames of burning corpses lined the street. His thoughts turned to his granddaughter Annabelle.
He pulled out his cellphone and dialed his daughter Rebekah’s number. After a dozen rings, she finally answered.
“Hey, dad. How are things?”
“You sound out of breath, kiddo. Are you okay? How’s our princess feeling?”
“Belle’s not feeling well dad. I have her wrapped up in a blanket on the couch. Just made her take some NyQuil. Dad, Belle’s sick. This virus is no joke. I know you haven’t worried about it, but I have.”
“I know, sweetheart. You know what’d make her feel better?”
“What, dad?”
“If I came over and told her a story.”
“Dad, they’re burning bodies in the street. They’re saying this will never end.” Rebekah sighed, and Pop-Pop grew quiet. “But if you can make it over here without any trouble; Belle would love to see you.”
“Okay, let me get my stuff together, and I will come that way.”
Pop-Pop pressed ‘end call’ and shoved his cellphone into his left pocket, looked out the window at the mass of people standing around the burning corpses and plotted the quickest, most non-confrontational route to Rebekah’s house.
People kept saying the world had changed much throughout its years, but to Pop-Pop humanity’s heart still held the same darkness it always did.

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